


Reylo Ever After

by reyoflight (itslaurenmae)



Category: Ever After (1998), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A retelling of a retelling of Cinderella, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cinderella Elements, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Inspired by Ever After (1998), Prodigal Son trope, Retelling, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Wayward Prince trope, ever after au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslaurenmae/pseuds/reyoflight
Summary: Reylo, except it's Ever After.Ben Organa Solo is the ever-restless Crown Prince of France. Leia is Queen, Han is dead, and the Kingdom needs to restore its trust in the Royal family. But how can they, when the Crown Prince keeps disappearing for days at a time, shirking his duties and princely responsibilities? Leia's not getting any younger, and there have already been rumblings about if Ben's really cut out for the job.Voices from the past (his uncle, Master Luke Skywalker) and new hope for the future in the form of a bright commoner named Rey Jaquen challenge Ben in ways he never dreamed before. Perhaps, this role isn't one he truly wants to walk away from, and perhaps, Rey really isn't Common. Perhaps, the belonging they both seek is not behind them - it is ahead.Follow our favorite star-crossed lovers as they discover themselves, each other, and a way to preserve a kingdom.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 24
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, and welcome to the first chapter of the Ever After AU I've had in mind to write since TLJ! Who knew all it would take to actually get me writing again would be a heinous bout of seasonal depression coupled with unsatisfying third act to the Sequel Trilogy?! Certainly not me, but hey, here we are.
> 
> Will most certainly contain quotations from the both the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy and Ever After (1998) and will also have a slow start, for which I do not apologize. Enjoy!

“You were born to privilege, and with that comes specific obligations!” 

It was Friday morning, the sun pouring in through the stained glass of the receiving hall. Queen Leia Organa’s words echoed in the chamber as she glared insistently at Ben - her son, the Crown Prince of France, her wayward boy - would he ever understand the immense place of privilege that came with his birthright? 

“Late to court again, unable to find you the night before, and now, here, looking like you’ve been kicked in your royal face by a horse and then dragged by it. Honestly, Ben, if I didn't know any better, I’d think you were trying to get yourself killed.” 

From the way he was standing there, insolent, eyes wandering, were they even rolling back in his head a bit?! … Leia didn’t think he’d ever understand. 

For a brief moment, she wondered, _why could we not have had other children?_ She didn’t really mean it, but he was trying her patience. The grace of Ben’s birth at all was not lost on her - Ben was her only son, _the_ son, the boy they’d prayed for after all the hardship and heartache… perhaps that’s why she wanted so badly for him to understand. 

But standing there in the receiving hall now, arms crossed, shoulders slumped, his dark hair long in his face, impish and indignant as he’d been as a child though leagues taller now, something awfully sour-smelling wafting from his general direction... no, perhaps he would never understand. 

“How do you expect to rule this kingdom, Benjamin?”

Ben immediately stopped his fidgeting and flinched at the sound of his given name. She knew Ben loathed when she used his full name in court like that - no doubt it reminded him that she’d been the one to give him well, everything, including that name and his claim to the throne. 

“The years have gone by, and I fear you are not even one step closer to understanding your place in this kingdom.” She let out a heavy sigh, unafraid of bruising his pride. He deserved this lecture. 

“This is the fourth time in as many days you’ve been late or gone or, gods know what else,” Queen Leia continued, still seated on the throne. “I’d thought the years at school were well enough, but since you’ve moved home, since your father passed…” she heard a sharp intake of breath pass from him. “This has been nothing but strife.”

For a moment, Leia wished briefly that Han was still there. Han wasn’t King, he hadn’t ever been King, but he had been her consort, her partner, and the father of her wayward son. With each passing day, Ben reminded her more and more of him, though Leia didn’t doubt that, had Han been there, he would not exactly have taken her side in this argument. More likely, he would have been in his own daze, dreaming about the next hunt he’d be on, not wanting to be right there, frustrated with their son while no doubt seeing vestiges of himself in Ben’s wide, dark eyes. 

But Han was gone, and it was important, no, vital, that Ben begin to take his ascension to the throne seriously, and soon. Leia wasn’t a young Queen anymore, and there had already been rumblings at court about who would succeed her. But those weren’t things she could breathe aloud this cold Friday morning, in the earshot of the courtiers and servants. No, this semi-public shaming would have to be just pointed enough.

She rose from her seat, stepped down from the throne, and walked the twenty paces to close the distance between herself and her only son. As she did, the guard around the room took their steady paces forward, flanking her as if she was walking into battle, while the handful of courtiers in attendance stepped back. 

Ben stood straighter as she approached him, trying to evade her eye contact as soon as she planted herself in front of him, looking up and over her. Queen Leia was not a tall woman, but what she lacked in stature she made up for with grit - which is how she’d successfully ruled France for so long, even after her consort had died. She raised a hand to Ben’s chin and swiftly pulled it down, the way she’d done so many times when he’d been a boy, so he had no choice but to look at her. 

“You have been born to privilege, and with that, comes specific obligations,” she repeated slowly, more deliberately. As her words echoed, she heard an audible gulp from the overgrown tree of a man in front of her, the man she called son.

She lowered her voice and his ear to her lips. “And if you don’t find some way to straighten yourself out in the very near future,” she whispered, “I’ll find a way to do it for you.”

Ben looked down at her, towering over her by well over a foot. He didn’t want to give her even an inch in this argument, but knew better than to fight her here, now, in her element. He cleared his throat, and lightly bowed his head. “Mother.” 

And like that, he turned on his heel and lumbered out of the chamber, cape billowing behind him. “I’ll be in the yard,” he deadpanned as he passed through the doorway. 

“Better the yard than the grave,” she said softly to herself. 

Leia sighed and turned to walk back up to her throne, escorted by Sir Chewie, her closest counsel. “I need parchment and pen,” she directed.

Chewie nodded and motioned to the scribe in the room to take his place before the Queen. 

“No,” Leia rebutted, “I’ll write this message in my own hand.”

The scribe bowed before her and left her his pen and parchment. 

_ Luke would know what to do.  _

It had been some time since Leia had seen her younger brother in person - Luke had left the royal court many years ago, far preferring to spend his days studying, painting, and making discoveries. Even so, Leia was confident he’d be able to help her get through to Ben in this time of need. She began to write.

It had been close to five years since Luke had last been at court. She’d heard he was little more than a monk now, living on some farm in a remote village, but he’d always sounded content and fulfilled in their written correspondence. She knew he likely wouldn’t want to leave his humble home, but she was desperate, and poured everything she could into the message. 

Seconds after writing the last word, right as the last of the parchment dried, Leia summoned Chewy.

“Take this to Luke,” she instructed, pressing her signet ring on the envelope. “Directly, if he’s still on that farm. If he’s not… well. Find him.” She pressed her lips together and handed the message to Chewy. “ And do not leave before he gives you his response.” Chewy nodded.

She rose and looked out one of the windows to see Ben practicing his forms with the Master at Arms, her old friend, Lando Calrissian. At least she knew where he was right now. Where he'd be in the next day, in the next year, in the days after she was no longer here... that remained to be seen.

* * *

Rey swept her hair from her face and the sleep from her eyes. It was very early, indeed, as was every day here on the farm. The coals in the fire were smoldering still, smoky and stinging her eyes, though not warming her hands.

She picked up the shawl on the chair and wrapped it around her shoulders, wobbling over to her worn boots. It was time for chores, and the chickens waited for no one. She could already hear the rooster heckling the sky and the hens pecking about. Hopefully, the frost had stayed off, and they’d actually laid eggs so she and Master Luke could eat a decent breakfast this morning.

He didn’t insist on being called Master Luke, but that’s how Rey preferred to address him. He was, after all, noble by blood, smart by his own mind and deft of his own hand, the one that remained, anyway. After that sword fighting accident in his youth, Luke had lightened up on battle stances and focussed more on brushstrokes, honing his study and his research. He’d taken Rey on as a fluke apprentice of sorts a few years earlier, after her adoptive family had all been killed by an awful bout of pox that wiped out most of the village she’d been living in.

Losing what was left of her family was of no consequence to Rey, who’d not exactly felt familial affection at all for the Plutts. Her stepfather, Unkhar, had only allowed her to remain at the small estate after her mother had passed away on the condition that she work as a servant, and it wasn’t like he or her stepsiblings had ever treated her well, even though it was her mother’s titles and wealth that afforded all of them a comfortable life after Lady Jaquen had passed. Plutt had run the estate into ruin - holes in the walls and the ceilings, the once lush fields overrun with brambles and weeds, deeply in debt and decrepit.

It had been something of a relief, then, when Master Luke’s caravan had broken down at Chateau du Jaqu, right as Plutt was taking his final breaths. Rey’d been little more than skin and bones by then, using the last of her wit and energy to sponge off Plutt’s flabby face and keep them both fed and alive when Luke arrived with his small cadre of traveling men. 

“Who are you?” asked the strange bearded man, skin weathered but eyes kind. 

“I’m nobody,” Rey had answered, swiping at Plutt’s brow, her eyes half-shut from exhaustion and hunger.

“Nobody’s nobody.”

Plutt gasped. The old man attempted to sit up to explain to the traveler just who and what he thought Rey was, but barely managed a gurgle. Plutt sputtered and shook with fever before plopping his fat head back down.

“Sleep,” Luke admonished the old trader, placing a cup in Plutt’s fat fingers.

Rey’s eyes widened - the liquid in the cup looked and smelled like a concoction she’d read about in one of her mother’s books, one that would take away the breath. She glanced over at the small stack of books, the ones she’d been scouring for the last week to keep both Unkhar and herself alive. As long as she had those books, she could do anything she needed.

“It’s a sedative,” Luke explained, seeing the look on Rey’s face. He noticed her sidelong glance at the books on the table. “He won’t be in pain anymore.” Rey wordlessly nodded her approval and helped Plutt lift the cup to his mouth.

It didn’t make a difference to Rey whether or not Plutt was in pain. He certainly deserved it, as he’d never been a good man, but for a moment, she felt for him. Even though he’d been ruthless to her, she still wasn’t sure he deserved to hurt. _Aren’t we all human, after all?_ Would she not want to be shown that kind of grace in her final moments?

Though Rey was far from fond of Plutt, she’d had no options, no prospects apart from him. Even after all the pain and loss and mistreatment, here she was, the last one standing here at his bedside. His other horrible children, her stepsiblings, had moved out days ago, taking with them the last of the gold and the silver, and had laughed in her face as their horses had kicked up dust at her. _You’ll never be more than a chimney maid, Cinder-Rey. Good luck with the old man._

Plutt passed quickly after his drink from Master Luke, in a drug-induced sleep, which was kinder than he deserved. Rey shed no tears for him - there would be no mourners for Unhkar Plutt. 

“Well,” Luke said as he leaned down to check Plutt’s pulse. “He’s gone.”

Rey nodded up at him, somber in face but relieved in her spirit. 

“How long did you keep him alive like this?” Luke asked.

“Four days.”

“After the fever started?” 

Rey nodded.

“That fever usually takes people in minutes, you maybe get two hours, if you’re lucky,” Luke said. 

Rey blinked.

“You say four days?”

“Yes, sir,” Rey responded.

“Not a sir,” Luke corrected. “I’m Luke.”

“Yes, Master Luke.”

“And you,” he went on, “you are not sick?”

“No,” Rey said, confident.

Luke crossed from Plutt’s body to raise a hand to her forehead. He felt her temple and looked piercingly into her eyes and across her sunken face.

“But you are starving.”

Rey’s eyes fell. “Yes.”

“Still,” Luke said, backing up a pace, “you’re not sick, and you kept him alive for four days.” 

“Yes, Master Luke,” she responded, shivering.

“Are those yours?” he asked, nodding to the pile of books on the table.

“Yes, my mother’s,” Rey said, eyes welling. How she missed her mother. What she wouldn’t give for her to be here with her now, in what was certainly the last of her days.

“And you can read them?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re in luck, kid,” Luke smiled. “I’ve got food, and you’ve got a brain. Bring your books and come with me.”

She frowned. 

“There’s nothing left for you here, Miss…?” he trailed off, searching for her name.

“Rey. Just Rey,” she said, blinking back a tear.

“Rey. You’re mother’s gone, isn’t she?” 

“Yes,” she said, gulping. 

“And this man? Your father?”

“Step-father,” she quickly corrected.

“Your birth father?”

“Dead. Right after I was born.”

“No siblings?”

“Half-siblings. Gone.”

“Children?”

“No.”

“So it’s just you.”

“Yes,” she squinted at him. “Just me.”

“Rey,” Master Luke said, taking a step away from her. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to come with me.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I think you’ve got something,” Luke repeated. “You can read, and you can think. And I’m in need of an apprentice who can do both. The last one was hopeless.” He said the last sentence with a kind of laughter in his voice and a light in his eye.

“What do you do?” Rey asked him, still unsure what this man was all about.

“A little bit of everything. I paint, I invent things. I have a farm. I could use your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes. Come with me, I’ll give you a place to sleep and meals to eat, Lord only knows you need it.” Luke chuckled and shook his head.

Rey furrowed her brow, still uncertain. Maybe she was better off hungry and starving out here. “I don’t believe I need charity.”

You need more than that, Luke thought, but didn't say aloud.

“You can assist me in my studies and help around the farm if that’ll make it feel less like charity. You can be my apprentice.”

“But I’m a girl.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Luke rose and nodded at the books.

“Bring your books and your brains, Rey nobody.” He cocked his head. “Your choice. You can stay here if you really want. I won’t get in your way if you want to drop dead of starvation.” 

Rey searched Luke’s face, looking for some sign of harshness or malice, but found none there. Was that a twinkle in his eye instead?

Luke pulled up his hood and nodded in the direction of Plutt’s body. “I’ll send the others in to deal with him. Gather your things and help us mend the wheel. I’ll be outside. With bread,” he added, ducking out the doorway.

She didn’t hesitate. She gave Plutt’s lifeless body one last look and rolled her eyes. Good riddance. In one fell swoop, she grabbed the books, her shawl, and what was left of her meager belongings to join Luke outside.

Luke’s men burned Plutt’s body and buried his ashes in the ground, mended the wagon’s wheel, and promptly left Chateau de Jaquen in the ruins it had been brought to by Plutt, with a fourteen-year-old Rey and her mother’s books in tow. 

That had been nearly six years ago.

Rey looped the handle of a bucked on one arm and the handle of her basket on the other, lifted her skirt enough to keep it from dragging in the mud, and traipsed to the henhouse. 

She heard a carriage on the road, some distance away still, and began collecting eggs. She’d hardly picked the third one up when she realized the carriage was, in fact, coming down the rickety passage that led right up to the farm. Odd, since she was sure they weren’t expecting visitors. She lifted her hand to her eyes and squinted. _Guess I’ll check twice_ , she thought. _Looks like we’ve got company._


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter Two of Reylo Ever After! 
> 
> One of my promises to myself for 2020 is to just do the Things, even if they aren't perfect. This fic is one of those Things. 
> 
> In the past, I'd sit on something until I felt it was good enough to be posted. This has sometimes meant not posting anything at all for lengthy periods of time (I may or may not currently have a oneshot from 2018 just sitting in my Google docs for this very reason). I'd had the idea for this fic back in early 2018 but never worked on it because I had no confidence in my ability to pull it off. For over a year, this fic was a list of disjointed bulled points. I'd look at them from time to time, think about how much I'd like to write it, then close the doc and forget about it for months.
> 
> With the start of the New Year, I decided it was time to just do the Thing and worry about whether or not it was "good enough" later.
> 
> I'm saying this partly in an attempt for you to know me, and partly because I am reserving my right as a creator to deliver on this piece at my own pace, for the love of it, free of pressure, even if it isn't perfect. I am currently writing this fic at a leisurely pace with a very, very loose outline and no real schedule. 
> 
> But.   
> I am writing it.  
> And you are reading it.   
> And I am so very grateful. 
> 
> Okay, no more posturing. Please enjoy this next chapter, it has 100% more Ben in it than the previous one.

"The nerve of her sometimes," Ben gritted, swinging his sword at the dummy mounted on a wooden stake, striking it true. The unfortunate object's head rolled to the ground and came to an abrupt stop right in front of Lando Calrissian's feet. Ben nudged his hair out of his eyes with his sleeve and huffed. "I don't know how you've managed to stay on so long."

"I know better than to argue with the Queen," the Master at Arms replied, bending down to retrieve the dummy's head. "Forty years will do that to you." 

Lando smiled warmly at the Crown Prince, but Ben wasn't in the mood for lighthearted jokes. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you about it." He paced around the dummy, parrying his inanimate opponent. "You're little more than her lap dog these days."

"Worse places, worse things I could be," the older man said under his breath, perhaps even loud enough for Ben to hear him. Lando lifted the dummy's head back up to its shoulders, setting it firmly back in place. "It's good to see you haven't slacked off on your training, even if you aren't doing it here so much."

"If you're trying to get me to tell you where I've been going," Ben said, striking the dummy on its left arm, "I won't."

"That's not what I'm doing in the least." That smile again. Lando always looked like he knew what kind of mischief you were up to, probably because he'd been quite mischievous himself in his youth. 

"Make yourself useful, old man." Ben pointed his sword in Lando's direction, shifting his weight between his feet. "Fight me. I need to break something."

Ben was done being an amusement for Lando - his old sword-teacher, the wisened Master at Arms, his father's best friend, his mother's ally. Ben didn't want to talk any more about days gone by, about the good times of his father and his mother and the kingdom being at peace. About how he'd been Young Ben, the best and brightest hope for the future of France. He didn't want to remember the hushed conversations, the whispers, the quiet resolution of his parents when they realized he was all they were getting. 

Too impulsive, too angry, too unmetered. These were the critiques of ever tutor, every diplomatic acquaintance, every child of every dignitary. Ben had been impossible to socialize, even early on. Too serious and surly, smart but unbalanced. 

Han and Leia hadn't exactly been young when they'd brought Ben into the world - there had been a string of failed pregnancies before him. Two nearly took Leia's life completely, and the court physician had advised against her and Han attempting to bring another baby into the world. But Leia knew it was absolutely imperative she and Han produce an heir if the kingdom would stay secure. Luke had already left courtly life and wasn't an option.

Ben was a miracle, and a nightmare. His mother told him as much at least once, and it was heavily implied by his father regularly. He couldn't remember how old he was exactly the first time he heard his parents talk about it, but it happened more and more often the older he got. 

Ben had just come inside from a day training in the yard with Master Lando and was on his way to be tutored by his uncle when he passed the library. 

"I'm worried," Han said, pacing about the dusty room. 

"About what?" His mother frowned, crossing to stand right in front of his father.

Han stopped pacing and faced Leia. Ben stuck his head around the corner to get a better look. "Our son."

"Ben." Leia shook her head knowingly. 

"Ben." It sounded like an admission of defeat.

His name always sounded like a disappointment in his father's mouth, even back then, and still had this morning from his mother's in the receiving hall. 

Ben blinked himself back into reality, rasing his practice sword. "I don't know why she even bothers with me anymore." He turned away from Lando and stretched his arms over his head - an attempt to save face, surprised a bit himself by that admission.

"You're all she's got. You're all any of us has got, kid." 

Ben wasn't sure he believed that, but he heard the sincerity in Lando's voice. Leia was headstrong and stubborn enough to tell death right off, of that Ben was certain. They thought it had come for her for good once before, but she'd pulled through and been back in council the following day. Even as headstrong as The Queen was, she couldn't delay the inevitable. Leia couldn't live forever. He'd have to become King someday.

"No one ever asked me if I wanted to be King," Ben admitted, turning back to face the old Master at Arms, but refusing to make eye contact.

"Why would they? Why wouldn't you?" 

Ben didn't respond, and instead swung his sword broadly at the dummy, missing its shoulder by a wide margin.

These were the questions that had plagued him the last five years, as his father had passed, as Luke had shown no intention of returning to court, as his mother had aged. As he'd rejected princess after princess, treaty after treaty falling by the wayside.

Of course, any other young man in the kingdom would LOVE to be in his shoes. Would even kill to be in his shoes. He swung once more at the dummy, this time connecting a steady volley of hits to its upper arms and chest. 

Why couldn't he have just been born common? To a smith, or had been a farmer's son? He jabbed fiercely at the dummy's gut, bursting it open. Feathers flew. 

Sure, having nice things was... nice? Having his position was... nice?   
But to be free of all the heavy hopes and dreams and expectations placed upon him by Leia and the rest of the royal court? 

He sliced the dummy clean through the gut and watched its legs fell to the floor. 

Freedom from the Crown? Freedom to be his own man?

That would truly be priceless.

"That's enough for today, Lando." The Crown Prince blinked the feathers from his eyes, sheathed his weapon, and nodded curtly at Lando Calrissian as he took his leave.

* * *

  
Upon retreating to his quarters, Ben had his manservant draw him a bath. He was very sweaty after his sparring session. He stank on top of the stench of the previous night. As the tub filled with hot water, he disrobed and opened a window, letting the cool morning air inside.

He'd not told Lando about what he'd been doing late at night and would keep it a secret as long as he could. Only one other person knew, and that was Poe Dameron, the head of Ben's guard. For the last several weeks, he'd been disguising himself as a commoner and walking amongst the townspeople long after the sun had gone down, long after he was supposed to be resting his royal head in his comfortable, lavish chambers. 

Sometimes, he just walked around the palace grounds. Sometimes, he ducked into a tavern, would listen to the songs and stories and take in the sights and smells of the commoners, his subjects, his people. Sometimes he'd ride his horse out into the outskirts of town, onto the moors, until he fell asleep. Last night, he'd been at a marathon game of cards that took place in front of an inn. It had smelled like a sewer out there, the poorly lit and poorly maintained street festering with the stench of unbridled, common life. Eventually, he and his comrades had hunkered into the tavern and huddled around a dingy fireplace for warmth. He'd gotten very drunk and lost a fair amount of coin before clunkily attempting to sweet-talk the barmaid. 

He may have been royalty, but Crown Prince Benjamin Organa Solo was royally awful with women. Certainly, he was handsome enough, but he didn't know how to speak well to people, especially women. It also didn't help that he'd been so drunk, he'd thrown up on her shoes, that she'd been stone-cold sober and thoroughly unamused, and that this was the third night in a row he'd done exactly this same thing, expecting different results.

So, a bath was much needed, indeed. Ben wiped his sweaty hair out of his face, and lowered himself into the brassy tub, allowing himself to drop completely beneath the surface. Maybe he could just hide beneath the water for a while, wipe away the memory and stench of the failure of the last few nights, of his whole life, at the same time. Maybe Leia would forget about what a disappointment he was, and he could go on his merry way, let himself be drained right out with the bathwater at the end.

He lifted his head out of the water and filled his lungs with the crisp air. He always did like bathing by an open window, even though it was quite cool outside. It felt brisk and alive. 

A shuffling from behind him caused him to turn his head. The shuffler cleared their throat. Ben sighed and turned to face his guest. 

"What is it now, Poe?"

Poe Dameron was head of Ben's guard, the second son of a diplomat, and though Ben regularly found him to be annoying, the closest thing Ben had to a real friend. They'd been raised together as boys, sparred together in the yard, and had been, on occasion, drinking buddies on Ben's overnight excursions. Poe was often the only person who knew where Ben was when everyone else did not.

"I thought you'd like to know that your mother has sent Chewie on an errand."

"An errand." Ben ran his fingers through his hair before resting his head on the lip of the tub. He was exhausted and hadn't wanted to be bothered with intrigues during this particular bath. Poe's intrusions on his privacy were hardly something he relished. He had half a mind to tell Poe to bid him leave, but then remembered that Poe usually covered for him in many situations - late for a council meeting, too hungover to attend a luncheon with some Duke or Duchess, the like. Poe had more than once looked the other way when he'd seen Ben sneak out, and on rare occasions, even accompanied Ben on his excursions. 

"Yes, an errand." Poe stepped all the way into Ben's room now. He walked right up to the brass tub and stopped, waiting for Ben to look at him. 

Ben reluctantly lifted his head from the tub and blinked back. He began to rinse his arms, refusing to make eye contact, waiting for Poe to continue. "Well?"

"Don't you want to know what it is? Or why?"

"Quit stalling, Dameron." Of course Ben wanted to know. Of course, Poe wanted to string it out, stir the pot a bit.

"Okay, okay," Poe grinned, knowing he'd won this session of posturing. He crouched down to meet Ben's eye level. "She's sent Chewie to Luke's."

Ben stopped rinsing and frowned. 

"Luke's?" He repeated. "My uncle's?" 

"Yes," Poe said. "With a letter she wrote herself. Right after you stormed out of the hall this morning."

"Stormed out?" Ben smirked. "That's my regular walk."

Poe chuckled and shook his head. "Yes, after you stormed out, she wrote a letter to Luke, gave it to Chewie, and told him to find Luke. Pretty sure you're in hot water, Sire." Poe reached into the tub, splashing a few drops of water onto Ben's arm.

Ben glared at Poe, unamused by the other man's lighthearted joking. He sat up, knees peeking out of the water.

"She knows where Luke is?"

Poe withdrew his hand. "No, I don't think she does for certain. She told Chewie to try the farm first, and if he wasn't there, to find him, and to not come back until he responded."

Ben put his face in his hands and pushed his damp hair out of his face. "Has he left already? Chewie?"

"Immediately after," Poe confirmed.

"No time to waste, then," Ben said, raising himself from the tub. Poe turned his head. "Toss me that towel, will you?" Poe complied. "Ready the horses, Dameron," Ben instructed as he stepped from the tub.

"Sire?"

"Perhaps I'll speak to Luke myself first," Ben grinned wryly. Chewie would have to stay on the main road, but Ben knew there was a faster way to get to the remote farm. It had been a while since he'd been, but he trusted his memory. 

He'd get there before Chewie did, and perhaps by doing so, could save himself from another semi-public lecture from his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for stopping by to read this fic. The comments and kudos on the first chapter were so very encouraging. I'd love to read and respond to more on this chapter! 
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr: @itslaurenmae
> 
> Bless up.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading the first chapter of this work - kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> (You can also follow me on tumblr if you'd like - @itslaurenmae)


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